


Please Advise

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Community: ds_snippets, First Kiss, Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for ds_snippets for the prompts of "fault, passage, mourning, bury, door."  Given the prompts, surprisingly ungloomy.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Please Advise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ds_snippets for the prompts of "fault, passage, mourning, bury, door." Given the prompts, surprisingly ungloomy.

"It's my fault, of course," a voice says. Fraser groans and pulls his head out from under the pillow, and, yes, it's his father.

"If I'd been around more I'd have trained you out of moping and sulking," he says.

"This is neither, and you're not helping," Fraser says.

"It's all about that incident in the kitchen passageway, isn't it?"

"What--I--you were _watching_?"

"_Lord_, no. Couldn't pay me enough. But it's not as if I'm the only one around, you know. Turnbull's great-aunt Lavinia--"

"I _beg_ you not to finish that sentence."

"Fine. I am _told_ that your Yank--kissed you."

Fraser shivers, because yes: Ray'd pushed him up against the door to the consulate kitchen, taken the tray of canapés out of his hand; yes.

"Well, I guess you're due a period of mourning. But hurry it up," his father says, and Fraser's suddenly enraged.

"There's no mourning required, nothing is _over_, Ray and I will _still_ be friends, partners, I just have to work out how to say no--"

"Not what I meant, son. Lavinia--I am _informed_ that you, briefly, responded."

"Yes," Fraser whispers.

"That what you thought you'd do?"

"No."

"There you go. If you don't do what you thought you'd do, then you're not who you thought you were, are you?"

"I--what?"

"Bury who you thought you were, son. Mourn it, but do it fast, before the Yank puts in his transfer papers. Welsh's grandfather tells me--"

"_Begging_ you."

"Fine, just hurry. And stop _moping_," and he's gone.

Fraser lies on his cot a while longer, watching sunset shadows move across the ceiling, thinking. Then rolls over and says to Dief, "Bury it, mourn it, stick it in a box marked 'done,'" and smiles a little, and starts putting on his boots.

 

\--END--

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Please Advise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850713) by [Andeincascade (Ande)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ande/pseuds/Andeincascade)




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